


Day at the Beach

by ShowersEmile



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Implied Relationships, drugged!Illya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowersEmile/pseuds/ShowersEmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby decides to spend her one free afternoon at the beach. She was going to work on her tan, read some magazines, maybe even take a dip in the sea. </p>
<p>Of course her boys throw a wrench in that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day at the Beach

Illya and Solo slogged out of the ocean. Under normal circumstances Gabby might enjoy the view, but they weren’t supposed to be swimming. They weren’t supposed to be on the beach at all.

What they were supposed to be doing was meeting with the mark, a record producer up to his ears in the smuggling of antiquities. Geoffrey Roth was the weak link in a chain of thieves out of Damascus. Solo and Illya as Jack Danvers and bodyguard were supposed to make introductions, get hired to ‘obtain’ goods for the next shipment, and meet her at the hotel in two hours.

At the shore line, Solo raked a hand through his wet hair, and scanned the hotel’s lounge chairs for her. Between the oddly careless gesture and how he was half-dragging Illya up the beach she knew her partners were in more than just a little trouble. Gaby lowered her sunglasses to get a better look at them as they approached. They did look a bit worked over. A bruise was rising on Solo’s forehead but Illya was clearly the worse off. There was a purplish cast towards his stomach and there were angry red marks on his wrists. They looked cold.

Correction they were cold. Without preamble Illya dropped to his knees, threw his arms around her, and nuzzled against her bare ribs.

She raised an eyebrow at Solo who had somehow stolen her towel out from behind her, “And what did you do to him?”

“Me?” he said innocently, which from him only made him sound guiltier. “It wasn’t me who was recognized by Roth’s new head of security.”

Illya hummed something, an apology perhaps. The cold water dripping from his hair made her shiver.

“And he threw you in the ocean?” Solo shrugged with a practiced air. “So what is this?” She gestured over Illya who was still wrapped around her. He didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving. If one of her hands fell into his hair that was entirely coincidental.

“Well that is six and a half feet of KGB trained Russian. You’re welcome.” He winked before continuing more seriously, “We were trying to salvage the situation. The whole ‘I’m just as surprised as you are etcetera, let me leave with my man, take care of it internally, etcetera.’ It was all going very well until some idiot decided to drug him. They said it was truth serum but I have my doubts. We beat a hasty retreat from the yacht. Over the side unfortunately.”

She sat up abruptly, dislodging the Russian. “Drugged!” She cupped his face in her hands. His pupils were blown wide. “What did they do to you?” She muttered.

“You are soft. And strong.” He smiled like a school boy. He dove at her catching her around the shoulders and effectively pinning her forearms between them. He buried his face in her neck.

“Perhaps we should take this party inside.” Solo said, “Before Peril gets really handsy.” He offered a wave and his special brand of charming smile to a pair of old women a few seats down. Flustered, they turned back to their magazines. “A public indecency charge might be hilarious but it’s rarely good tradecraft.”

“Well give me a hand then.” She wiggled her still trapped fingers.

“Fair point.” He swung the towel rakishly around his neck. “Alright Peril up and at ‘em.” He manage to coax Illya to his feet one arm draped over his shoulder to keep him upright. Freed, Gaby slipped on her cover-up and gathered her belongings.

Illya rested his forehead against Solo. “You are short.”

“Fantastic. Ms. Teller is soft and strong, but all I get is short. I think I should be insulted Peril.”

“Yes.” Illya lolled his head back. “I see right over you. You are short.”

“Remind me to start wearing a hat.” Solo rolled his eyes.

“Boys,” Gaby grabbed Illya by his other arm. “Time to move I think.”

They led Illya up to the hotel and through the lobby, stopping every few feet to convince him not to take a nap where they stood.

“Shhhh, little chop shop girl, do you want to hear a secret?” He leaned dangerously away from Solo. “Cowboy,” he looked conspicuously over his shoulder at the man in question, “Cowboy is short. Do not tell him, it will only make him mad.”

“I think he already knows.” She patted his cheek. “Let’s get you inside yes?” Solo huffed and unlocked the suite door.

They deposited him on the large double bed. His hair would no doubt leave a wet patch on the pillowcase. He fell asleep almost immediately.

Gaby and Napoleon stood sentry over him.

It only then occurred to her, “The two of you just happen to be wearing swimsuits?”

“We were doing business with an entertainment mogul on a yacht in the Mediterranean – of course we wore swimsuits.”

“I’m sure Illya loved that.”

“Yes well if I let Illya make all his own sartorial choices what fun would that be. Besides if we hadn’t we would have looked awfully strange coming up the beach.”

Gaby shock her head, “Uh-huh. Come on let’s take a look at that bruise before it ruins your pretty face.”

“Yes ma’am.”


End file.
